Rebuild
by Wordsplat
Summary: You're Not Stubborn (Just Impossible) Verse - Part 2. Six years later, Steve and Tony are settled in their life together; neither of them could've expected who would turn up at their door.


He didn't get it, at first.

Steve leaned against the doorframe of their bedroom, eyes wide. "Your mother's at the door."

"What're you looking at me for?" Tony raised an eyebrow, closing his book and swinging his legs off the bed. "You didn't just leave her there, did you? Invite her in, you dork."

"No, Tony—_your _mother."

Tony made a choked, strangled sort of noise that came out something like, "Oh."

The strange look on Steve's face made more a little more sense.

"She asked if you would see her." Steve ran a hand through his hair.

Christ. Tony hadn't seen his mother in…years, not since before he left home. That made it, what, six years? They hadn't stayed in contact, and Tony hadn't expected to. He hadn't even thought she'd known—or cared—where he was living now. She hadn't when he was a kid. Why would she now? He was twenty-three, for God's sake. They lived inone of the millions of apartments in Cambridge, how had she even found him, and why? Had she just…picked up and driven here, on some kind of whim? Or worse, was it a plan, was _Howard _waiting in the car to ambush_—_

"No." Steve stepped forward at that, crouching in front of Tony to take his hands. "I don't think he's here, honey. But I think…I think she'd really like to speak to you."

"Yeah." Tony nodded without thinking about it. He was getting too up in his head; it wasn't some conspiracy to ambush him. It was his mother. Wanting to speak to him. Waiting at his door. "Right. Yeah, okay."

Steve squeezed his hands once before letting go. "I'll stay here, give you some space."

"Thank you." Tony caught one hand, tugged Steve in to kiss his cheek, before leaving their bedroom.

The front door was open. His mother stood on the other side of the threshold, stock still. She was waiting calmly, but the look on her face spoke enough of her discomfort. She looked like he remembered her; perhaps a few more grey hairs along her temples, a wrinkle here or there he didn't quite recall, but nearly the same. She glanced up as he approached, and they regarded each other for a long, quiet moment.

"Could I perhaps—"

"Would you want to—"

They spoke at once, then both fell silent again. Tony stepped back, opened the door a little more in invitation. She smiled at him faintly and took a step inside. He had a moment of hypersensitivity; their apartment was enough for them and Tony was more than happy with it, but it was no Stark Mansion. Or Stark beach house. Or Stark mountain retreat. Or Stark…anything.

But then, he wouldn't be a Stark much longer.

Tony fiddled with the ring on his finger, not hiding it exactly, but unsure how to broach the topic, or if he even should. He glanced around their apartment, at the cramped and blended space that was their combined kitchen, living room, and entranceway. At the couch, that was probably a good thirty years older than anything his mother had ever touched in her life that wasn't antique. At the half-done dishes in the sink and the basket of dirty laundry not quite hidden by the couch, where he and Steve had abandoned it earlier after bickering for nearly an hour over whose turn it was to take it down to the Laundromat.

He nudged the basket behind the couch with his foot as he and his mother took seats at opposite ends, though he didn't know why he even bothered. Hiding the laundry wasn't going to hide their itty bitty apartment and their secondhand furniture and their distinct lack of a maid service. He shouldn't even want to; he was happywith his life. Genuinely, honestly happy in a way fancy mansions and expensive things and maid services had never made him. Still. This was his mother, and that meant rationality was already out the window.

"Could I get you, uh. Water?" They also had orange juice and beer, but he knew there was no point in offering those.

"No, that's fine." She smiled that same, thin smile he remembered so easily, the smile laced with guilt and regret and any number of things, things he used to blame himself for. Now he wasn't sure what to think. "I'm not here to impose."

"You're not imposing, it's fine, it's a Monday, so," Tony assured quickly, then realized she wouldn't understand the implications of that, "We have Sundays and Mondays off. Well, Steve works in the morning, but. Mostly off."

"Steve," She repeated, clearly committing the name to memory. She tipped her head in the direction of the bedroom. "He's lovely. I know I don't deserve much of a welcome, but he was very polite."

"He's…" Tony struggled with the words to fill that gap, to explain Steve to someone who had only ever met him in passing. He wasn't even certain how much she cared, if she did at all. "He's like that. Good. Kind."

"I'm glad." The smile that softened her features was different from her usual thin one, and Tony felt pleased that he'd drawn it out.

"He's an artist." Tony could feel the nervous, jittery babble rising up in him, but he was helpless to stop it. The situation was strange and uncomfortable, and the topic of Steve was familiar and comfortable; he couldn't help latching on. "He's working with an independent comics company right now, and he might get a chance to join the creative team soon since he knows a bit about the era the series they're rebooting is set in. History was his minor at MassArt, that's, uh, Massachusetts's College of Art and Design, the liberal arts answer to MIT. And MIT, that's where I went, if you, um. Didn't know. Or maybe you did, because you're, y'know, here. Which, not that I'm complaining, but how did you…?"

"The Van Dyne's were talking about a wedding their daughter would be attending soon." She didn't seem put off by his rambling, but then, that wasn't exactly a new part of his personality. "Wedding of the century, they called it."

"Wow, that's…uh, wow." Tony could feel his neck heating up. He and Steve couldn't afford much, but they had a lot of friends and they'd all brainstormed together, gotten creative with the planning to make it work. He didn't know about wedding of the century, but. It was certainly going to be his personal favorite.

"When they saw me coming, they hushed, but I caught your name. I asked their daughter for your address. I came…I wanted…well. Congratulations are in order first, I suppose."

"Thank you." Tony tried to stop twitching his knee, and failed. "We're happy. Excited. We wanted to wait until after college, and Steve just graduated over the summer, so."

"I heard you graduated early?" She didn't seem surprised.

"Yeah. Two years ago, top of—yeah." He cut off his bragging, that age old habit of _look at me, look what I did, I can be smart like Dad too! _rising up too quickly for comfort. "Electrical engineering. I'm working with some friends on a start-up company. Cell phones, computers, that sort of stuff for now, but I've got big plans for when we've got more weight to throw around. I've finally managed to line up some investors, so Steve and I are moving back to Manhattan at the end of the year."

"Busy year." Her smile was smaller this time, but prouder, almost as if she was cautious to show him so. Tony couldn't help but feel like preening.

"Yeah." Tony smiled back. "But I'm really…I'm happy. I mean, it's not just this year, I've been happy all this time, but. Pretty great year."

"Divorce laws are different, for omegas," she reminded him quietly after a moment, "We can't initiate it, no matter the circumstances."

Tony caught her gaze lingering on his engagement ring before she looked back at him, but he could see clearly that she wasn't doubting his judgment, or Steve in general. She was inquiring. They weren't close enough for her to ask outright if Steve was good to him, if Steve had the potential to become like his father, but she was his mother and it seemed she did still care, after all.

"I don't need to concern myself with divorce laws."

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Of course he needed to concern himself with it, it was an injustice, and one of the many battles the ORA—Omega Rights Activists, a massive, nationwide group of which Steve and Tony were both active members—was currently fighting. It just so happened that _particular _inequality wasn't one that would have any direct effect on Tony's life. He was still pumped about _marrying _the guy; the idea of divorcing Steve was about as appealing as getting sawed in half.

"May I ask when?"

Tony nodded, sliding a thumb over the smooth band. "September 28th; a month and a half."

"I thought it might be soon." She glanced down at her hands. "The Van Dynes are quite excited."

"Jan's a good friend. She designed our suits." Tony swallowed hard. "You know, if you…if you wanted to come, that'd be—I mean, you don't have to, but—"

"I'd like that." She looked up finally, an appreciative smile softening her features.

"I would too." Tony was loathe to broach the subject, but he needed to make sure she understood. "So long as you don't bring him. I want you to come, but I can't…see him. I don't want to deal with that, especially not then."

They both knew exactly who he was talking about. There was a moment of mute silence as she nodded, and Tony released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"This has all gotten so far off track, hasn't it?" She blurted with a small sound, less laughter, more nerves. She looked down at her folded hands, flustered, and shook her head immediately. "I don't mean—"

"It's fine, I know—"

"I don't think you do." She corrected, not unkindly. "You're my only child, and I…I've done you such disservice. I should've…" She shut her eyes tightly, like it was a pain to think about. When she opened them again she wore that familiar smile, but the edges were harder. "I should've done so many things. I'm your mother. I should've been the one to teach you right from wrong, to teach you how to be strong enough to stand up when everyone tells you to stay down, but. I spent my whole life staying down, and you had to teach me instead. I'm so sorry for that, Anthony."

"Mom, it's…" Tony's throat closed, and he had to take a moment, a breath, before he could finish. "It's not your fault."

"'Those who see evil but do nothing to stop it'," she offered the half-quote, and Tony winced.

"No, that's—I admit, there was a time I blamed—I was angry." It took Tony a moment to sort out what he was trying to say, too thrown off-guard by it all to really keep his thoughts straight. "I was angry with you, once, but back then, I was angry about a lot of things. I was angry and defensive and always trying to pick a fight because it was easy, it was what I knew—" _Thanks, Dad. _"—but being indignant didn't make me right. It was a bad situation, but it wasn't your fault."

"He was different, once." It wasn't an excuse, merely a lament.

"I don't want to talk about him."

His tone wasn't unkind, but it was firm; she fell silent a moment, which was fine. Better than the alternative. He couldn't deal with that, not yet. Maybe not ever.

"I'd like to meet him. Steve, that is." When she spoke again, it was tentatively, unsure of her reception.

"Yeah, of course." Tony nodded, eager and receptive to the swift change in subject. He could summon Steve just by thinking about him, but Bucky had told them on numerous occasions that was apparently 'really freakin' weird'. "Hey, Steve, can you come here?"

The bedroom door opened, and Steve slipped out. He glanced between Tony and his mother, clearly unsure of his footing. _Welcome to the club_, Tony thought sarcastically.

"Hello, Mrs. Stark," Steve greeted.

"Steve Rogers, right?" She stood, extended a hand. "It's a true pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's mine," Steve responded automatically, relaxing incrementally as he took a seat in the chair beside Tony.

"I apologize for the intrusion."

"It's no problem, really," Steve assured her, "I'm sorry about earlier, if I looked a bit…"

"Shocked?" A corner of her mouth ticked up in mild amusement. "I could've hardly expected anything else."

"I guess not, but…" It only took a split second for Steve to probe for Tony's feelings, sense his agreement. "You're welcome here, Mrs. Stark. I didn't mean to make you feel otherwise."

"He's as polite as you said," she joked lightly to Tony. Steve's ears went a little red, and Tony could hear him loud and clear. _Polite?_ That's_ what you told her? _Tony gave a miniscule shrug. _Among other things. And it's true, what're you complaining about? _"Tony says you're an artist?"

"Well." Steve shot him an embarrassed look. "Tony exaggerates. I do ink work, mostly. Lines and such for an independent comics company, Avenge."

"Oh? What's that like?" she inquired, and Steve, sensing interest, gained a little more speed as he spoke.

The rest of that afternoon was like that, filled with carefully phrased conversation that bounced between too politely awkward and too raw to be comfortable. It was weird; it was very acutely, very obviously weird, and seeing her again at the wedding would probably be weird too, but Tony didn't care. He would push through the awkward, maneuver the rough edges, figure out whatever he had to if his mother truly wanted to reach out to him.

He'd thought about her a lot. Not at first; he'd been young. He hadn't considered her at all so long as old wounds still stung. It wasn't until after he'd started healing, physically and metaphorically, that he'd started to miss her. It wasn't that Steve and his mom weren't enough family for him, because they were and always would be, and they knew that. It wasn't even that she'd been particularly loving or affectionate to him growing up, because she hadn't. He'd missed something he couldn't name, some ephemeral idea of what he'd lost. He hadn't even known what a family could _be _like until he'd moved in with Steve and his mom; once he did, he couldn't imagine living without it. If his mother wanted to try and reconnect with him, wanted to dust off and attempt to piece together the fragments that remained of their relationship, he'd gladly help her.


End file.
